


I Didn't Care If It Was Day Or Night

by fawna



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Compliant, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Meet-Cute, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-08 16:24:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5504615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawna/pseuds/fawna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles and one shots for The 100. I figure it's going to be mostly bellarke but I'm open to any pairings.</p><p>Ch 1 We're Just Dickheads: bellarke established relationship + a kid<br/>Ch 2 Up in the Air: Bellamy is scared of flying. Clarke isn't.<br/>Ch 3 Wine and New Beginnings: Clarke is drunk in a laundromat and Bellamy is easy to talk to<br/>Ch 4 Old, Broken and Happy: future fic in which bellarke grow old together</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We're Just Dickheads

**Author's Note:**

> I figure most of my works end up pretty short, so why not just accept it and collect them all in the one place?
> 
> Title from Tame Impala- Love/Paranoia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically bellarke established relationship, bed sharing, and a kid. I fucking suck at these. I'm sorry

Bellamy has a habit of spurting out random facts and stories (usually about history) to Clarke throughout the day. He’s not even sure she listens anymore, just vaguely pays attention so she can hum in the appropriate places and be calmed by the sound of his voice. She gets her payback in the middle of the night, anyway.

It’s 3am and there is about zero per cent chance of Bellamy falling asleep. He can _hear_ Clarke’s brain ticking over. It’s not really all that surprising; Clarke is constantly analysing or worrying or just _thinking_. She keeps huffing before throwing her body around to face in a different direction.

It’s not like anything will change when Clarke manages to fall asleep—she sleep talks, _a lot_. Because even when her body is essentially hibernating, Clarke’s brain is still going a million miles an hour. (It’s both intriguing and terrifying. Intriguing because she will have full conversations with him, answering him with the weirdest shit. One time she blurted out ‘what if we all have nine lives, like cats, but they stuff us in coffins before we wake up again so we have to live the rest of our lives out underground?’. Terrifying because she asks shit like that and it takes him a few minutes to realise she’s asleep, after which, of course, he debates whether that’s where zombies come from. Also, sometimes she’ll open her eyes and stare right through his fucking soul and it gives him the creeps.)

He decides to humour her, anyway, because he has work tomorrow and he can’t get to sleep while she’s practically humming like an old laptop starting up.

“What’s up, Princess?”

His words are all she needs, apparently, to release all of her pent up thoughts.

“Okay, so, our kid—our hypothetical, no pressure, possible kid—like, wait.” She takes a moment to organise herself, because even though she’s been mulling over this all night, she evidently hasn’t gotten around to figuring out how to actually voice her thoughts. It’s endearing, really, and he catalogues it in his mind because a completely awake and functioning Clarke would never be this jumbled. “Say we had a kid. Boy or girl, it doesn’t matter. Do you think anyone would even like it? Like, no offense, but it wouldn’t have very good role models in terms of friendly, happy parents. I mean, the only friend I had for the first fourteen years of my life was Wells. And every friend after that only started becoming close with me because they had to, you know? Monty had no friends in Bio, Jasper is friends with anyone Monty is friends with, I literally _threatened_ Maya the first time I met her, Raven was tired of hanging out with boys and I was pretty much the only other girl she knew, even _you_ hated me at first.”

She’s counting everyone off on her fingers and it’s honestly a little depressing. He goes to cut her off but she’s too deep in her train of thought to even notice. She’s not even looking at him; her wide eyes are trained on the ceiling.

“And, yeah, you were pretty popular in school but that was because everyone was scared of you. You were also a dick, and I was a little bit of a dick, so our kid will probably be, like, Dick-Two-Point-O. Or King Dick. The Dickiest.”

He can’t help it anymore—he bursts out laughing. It’s just so ridiculous. If it wasn’t already apparent that Clarke is tired it definitely is now. She would normally never bring this kind of stuff up, no matter how much it was bothering her, because she would think it’s too fickle. Clarke glares over at him, offended. “I’m sorry, it’s just— _that’s_ what’s been bothering you so much? That our kid will be a massive dick? Clarke, we haven’t even talked about kids yet.”

Clarke is still frowning at him when she says, “Yeah, that’s why it’s _hypothetical_. I was just wondering.”

He doesn’t tell her that _wondering_ doesn’t usually include this much anxiety, and that she’s closer to stressing.

“Even if our hypothetical child is a dick, we will always love it. And that counts, right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” she says, her frown smoothing out. He knows where her mind is right now; the father he never got to meet, the mother who died too early and left him and O without a parent, her father who loved so hard until, he too, was taken from the world. He reaches out his arms and Clarke instantly shuffles her way into them. He runs one hand through her hair and slides the other under her pyjama shirt so he can rub large circles over her back.

“Honestly, I think anything we create will be pretty damn great. And who cares if no one likes them? No one liked us and we’re still happy and pretty fucking brilliant.”

“Yeah,” she murmurs, tucking her head under his chin. “We really are.”

+

Three years later, a heavily pregnant Clarke (who is taking up over two-thirds of the bed) whips her head up to stare at Bellamy. He's reading, and still has his lamp on so he can see the glassy quality to her eyes, which is her I-am-asleep-but-somehow-managing-to-stay-alert look.

"You know what?" she blurts. "I hope our kid  _is_ a dick, like a really big asshole. And then, when they say something really... dicky, I can be like, 'yeah, that's my kid'. I'll be so proud. I want them to be just like us. Dicks."

He just grins and places his hand over her protruding stomach. "Yeah, The Dickiest."

+

Clarke gets her moment five and a half years later at Aurora's first day at school. The parents get to stick around until recess, to help the kids get settled in. Aurora sucks up to the teacher for most of the time they're there.  _It's so Clarke_ , and Bellamy tells Clarke as much, earning him an elbow to the stomach. Only half an hour before the parents are supposed to leave, Aurora  _finally_ decides to join a group of other kids, rather than spend the whole day with the teacher. They're all gathered around a pile of primary coloured foam blocks, making castles and shit. One kid is hoarding all the blocks with archways, and it's apparently pissing Aurora off.

"Your supposed to share," she lectures. She swipes one of the archway blocks from part-way up the kid's castle, causing a bunch of it to topple down.

"Hey!" the boy cries, gathering up the blocks that were spread everywhere by Hurricane Aurora.

"You're being rude. You don't need all of the blocks like this," she tells him, handing the block to a skinny boy sitting next to her, who timidly accepts her offering. "You need to be a big kid and learn that _sharing is caring_." She says 'sharing is caring' as if it's some sort of inspiring message, like she got it straight of the mouth of Buddha, or something.

"She's so pretentious," Clarke breathes, a wide grin spreading across her face.

"What a dick," Bellamy agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you would like to suggest anything for me you can do it over at my tumblr [@delinguents](http://delinguents.tumblr.com). Just... don't expect much, I'm a super slow writer who occasionally has bursts of inspiration.


	2. Up in the Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy is scared of flying. Clarke isn't.

Clarke’s favourite parts of plane trips are the parts when children cry. Not because she enjoys their crying, or anything. But because kids always cry during the _fun_ bits. Like when the plane accelerates down the runway, or when it’s wheels lift of the tarmac, or as the plane rapidly descends towards the ground. Wells had once told her that watching Clarke during these parts was mildly terrifying. ‘There’s just you, smiling creepily out your window, surrounded by screaming children,’ he told her. He’s not wrong.

The airhostesses began their safety demonstration that Clarke tunes out of. She knows every word of it. Even the part where they say, ‘even if you travel with us regularly, please listen in blah blah blah.’ Whatever. And it isn’t like she could focus this time anyway; she is already concentrating very hard on ignoring the hot guy sitting next to her. It’s taking a lot of effort. She drums her fingers on her armrests (technically, only one of the armrests is hers but hot guy doesn’t seem to want his). The plane starts rolling forward and Clarke moves across so she can see everything outside the window. Her head is probably blocking the view for hot guy and the man with a beer gut beside him but Clarke can’t bring herself to care. The plane accelerates until it’s roaring down the tarmac and Clarke can’t keep in her grin. She is vaguely aware that a crying toddler is providing creepy background music as she does so.

Just as the plane really starts picking up speed, hot guy catches her hand in a death grip. Startled, she spins to look at him. He ignores her, his eyes burning holes into the headrest in front of him. Clarke shrugs a little as she turns back to her window.

+

As the plane levels out, hot guy unwinds his fingers from hers. He still doesn’t say anything but he offers her a tight-lipped smile, which is good enough for Clarke.

With the fun parts over (for now) she leans back to get some rest. She does not recline because she knows the basic rules of flying. One of those rules is, _when on a budget flight with limited legroom, don’t recline your chair, you fucking asshole_. Unfortunately, Clarke made these rules up herself and that doesn’t stop the man in front of her from basically reclining into her lap. Her exhaustion wins over her annoyance, however, and she is asleep within minutes. When she wakes, her cheek is smashed against hot guy’s shoulder. Perfect. Of course asleep Clarke has zero special awareness. She probably drooled on him.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, drowsily pulling herself up. She is surprised to see him smiling down at her.

“It’s the least I could do,” he says with a grin.

“Right,” she nods. “Do you have a fear of flying?”

“Apparently,” he shrugs. “This is my first time.”

Her eyes widen. “For real? Never ever?”

He smiles down at her, amused. “Never ever. I’ve never had the need to. But my sister moved last month and this is the first opportunity I’ve had to visit her.”

She considers him for a moment. “Fair enough. But you’re fine now? You’re not scared?”

He seems to think it over. “No. Don’t get me wrong, I still don’t like it and this all feels very unnatural. But, yeah, I’m doing okay.”

“Well if you need, my hand is always here,” she says, going for comforting but probably coming off as creepy.

The man smiles at her anyway. “I appreciate it.”

+

The man takes her hand again when they’re landing and holds it so tight she’s pretty sure he’s cutting off her circulation. But he tells her his name is Bellamy and they trade numbers when it’s all over so she definitely doesn’t mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr [@delinguents](http://delinguents.tumblr.com), if that's a thing you want to do.
> 
> (Also I finished two things in one day!! Probably really badly considering it's almost 2am oops) ((my eyes are burning a little bit))


	3. Wine and New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinda angsty (I guess) bellarke meeting at a laundromat

She met him at the laundromat.

She met him when she was drunk on wine and had decided that this was the perfect time to get on with her chores. She met him when he had dark circles under his eyes and was down to his last pair of clean underwear. He told her as much in a quip when he had seen her and she scrunched up her nose and pretended to be disgusted.

(She really wasn’t. She was more concentrated on his beautifully messy curls that looked like they’d be heaven to touch.)

The washing machines hummed and clanked in that way that only prehistoric ones do. She hummed along from where she was perched atop a dryer, thumping her heels against the dryer door, as if all the noise was a song and she was the beat.

(She was probably too drunk. Or she was drunk at least. ‘Too’ drunk implied there was an appropriate amount of drunk for this occasion and she’d surpassed it. Surely there was no ‘appropriate’ level of drunkenness for the anniversary of your girlfriend’s death.)

In that moment she felt light. Well lighter than she had in the past two years, at least. And definitely lighter than the only other person in the laundromat. He was pacing, anxiously muttering things under his breath. She could catch snippets every now and then—names and dates and battles—but in her drunken state she couldn’t make any sense of it.

“You studying?” she finally asked, lacking any shred of eloquence.

He looked up, startled, before he offered her a crooked smile.

“Trying.”

She held out her near empty wine bottle by the neck, shaking it at him when he didn’t take it from her. “This will help.”

His smile grew yet somehow also become more tired. “I don’t think it will, Princess.”

She huffed, stuffing the bottle back into her plastic laundry basket. “Suit yourself.” She kicked at the dryer again for a while before she grew bored and threw herself over the top of it so she was lying on her back. “Talk to me then. Tell me about it.”

She could hear when he stopped pacing and could almost feel his hesitation.

“Battle of Thermopylae, 480 BC, between the Persians and the Greeks, King Leonidas and King Xerxes I of Persia. Battle of Salamis—“

“Geez, could you make it a little bit interesting? You gotta do more than just rattle off facts.”

She heard him huff as she stared up at the ceiling and counted the shadows of dead bugs trapped in the plastic cases of the laudromat’s fluorescent lights. “I can expand on this stuff when I get to the test,” he grumbled. “It’s the names and dates I struggle to remember.”

“I bet you’re fun at parties,” she snorted.

“Not really my scene. You on the other hand…”

She looked up just as he tipped his head towards her wine bottle.

“I’ll have you know this is the first time I’ve drank in months.”

“Oh really?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “What’s the occasion?”

“Girlfriend died two years ago today.”

The words hung heavy between them and she reached for her wine bottle again, not to drink, just for something to hold on to.

“That… sucks,” he said finally and, despite his poor phrasing, he seemed genuine.

She snorted. “Yep.”

She sighed and tuned back into the thump of the washing machines as they turned.

“This is going to sound stupid,” she said, not bothering to check if he was still listening, “but this bottle of wine is going to be my new beginning, I think. She— _Lexa_ , her name was Lexa—was always into all this spiritual shit. I—well I wasn’t _supportive,_ I guess. But I was always open-minded. She would talk about spirits and ancestors and how the world was so much bigger than just us. And I would kind of just be like, ‘oh yeah, that’s nice, sweetie, whatever’. But that stuff just wasn’t _me_. Like, I think it would be nice to think that there’s someone looking out for us and death is a beginning not an end and blah, blah, blah. But it all just seems too far out for me.”

She looked up at him for a second because she just needed a tether right then, but when she looked up he was staring so intently at her that she had to look away again. She took a deep breath and stared at the dead bugs instead, in their plastic coffin.

“But—I wonder sometimes, y’know? What if she was right? What if the logic is on her side? And what if—what if she’s looking down on me now, and has been for two years, and all she’s seen is a girl who’s lost? And—I don’t know, but I think—it might be a disservice to her, if I’m doing anything other than trying to pick myself up.”

They both don’t talk for a moment and it fleetingly registered that she just spilled herself over a stranger but she found it hard to care all that much.

“Makes sense,” he said, voice soft.

For some reason that made her grin. “Yeah, I like to think so.”

After that, they both fell back into silence, but there was a palpable feeling of understanding between them.

And, yeah, the next day he’d go into his test with those same dark circles and she’d wake with a pounding headache.

But that night she left the laundromat with a basket of fresh, warm clothes and his number tucked into her pocket and the feeling of something blooming in her chest, so she thinks she lucked out.

+++++++

_I don’t know if you’ll remember this in the morning but we met at the laundromat last night._

_My name is Bellamy._

_I like it when you talk. If you want to talk to me more often, this is my number._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was one of those 'it's midnight but I need to get this idea out of my head' kind of things. I have like a billion WIPs on my computer right now but I'm stuck with all of them. I don't know.  
> Edit: also sorry for being so inactive. Uni started and I was swamped.


	4. Old, Broken and Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> future fic in which Clarke and Bellamy grow old together on earth  
> (yeah it sounds like a pipe dream to me too)

Forty-eight years. Forty-eight years of Earth. Of blistering heat and chilling winters. Of loss, of pain but of beauty too. And somehow, as their friends fell around them, as her mother was buried underground, _they_ survived. In all honesty she thought they’d be the first to go. They had a habit of putting themselves in the firing line, fighting tooth and nail with little concern for their own lives. She never expected to make it past thirty.

But then forty came, and fifty, and without warning she was nearing seventy. They hadn’t made it without a few scrapes along the way. Bellamy’s was deaf in his left ear from a bomb that went off too close and he walked with a constant limp from a battle injury that never healed. Clarke had lost three fingers, the first two from a bullet wound and the last one, stupidly, from frostbite. (Bellamy gave her the most grief about the last one. ‘ _I_ told _you to come inside’_ , he liked to remind her.) She also had a scar that cut deep into her cheek from where a bullet had skittered past. Bellamy called it her Lucky Spot. It was his favourite place to press kisses to.

They’d aged faster down on earth too. He had a new wrinkle almost every day. Her favourites were those than fanned out from his eyes and grew deeper as he grinned. His skin didn’t hold quite as taunt either but he was still the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

She thumbed the ring around her finger. Her knuckles swollen, she could no longer twist it around like she used to, but her thumb still found the band out of habit. They’d never gotten married and he never really even proposed. He had just sheepishly offered her the ring he’d made himself and suggested, in a voice smaller than she had ever heard come from him, that she wear it on her ring finger. Not to be outdone, she spent a month and a half crafting his ring, etching the words ‘ _Together in life, Forever in love’_ in jagged scrawl. His eyes had gone red with tears as she slid it on his ring finger and the kiss he had pressed to her lips was all smiles. Her ring had since been moved to her pointer finger after she lost her ring finger to frostbite but she had no questions about what it meant.

“Bell, I’m going for a walk. You want to come?”

Bellamy had no reaction as he sat on their porch, his thumbnail scratching into the soft wood of the chair he was in. She _knew_ that was him putting all those hollows in the wood! _‘It must be the birds, Clarke. They must be digging their beaks into the wood’._ Idiot.

She came around to his other side, slapping his hands away from the armrest as she did, so she could yell in his good ear.

“I _said_ , I’m going for a walk. Do you want to come?”

“What are you yelling for?” Bellamy grumbled. “I can hear you.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “You coming?”

He nodded. “I’m not doing much else. Help me up?”

She gripped his arms and heaved him out of the chair and he made a show of falling into her and resting his head against her shoulder once he was up, making the both of them laugh.

“Come on, you big baby,” she chuckled. “Let’s go.”

He took her hand as they walked, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. They wound out the gate and into the forest, aimless in their direction but sure in their position.

“Some of the kids have started calling me grandpa,” Bellamy announced and Clarke could hear the swell of pride he tried to mask.

It didn’t come as much of a surprise. Not only was Bellamy one of the oldest in the camp (an unfortunate side effect of life on earth. Many didn’t make it past fifty), but the kids loved him. They’d climb over his back and he’d make them squeal and laugh.

“That’s just because you’re so ancient. They don’t call me grandma,” she replied, going for light-hearted but her hurt bled through.

“They’re just scared of your mangily hand,” he teased, wiggling his fingers in her face. She slapped him up the back of his head, no easy task as she has managed to shrink in her older age. He squeezed her fingers though, letting her know he understood.

They’d never had kids of their own. At first because there was no time and the world was too harsh for a baby, and then because of their own insecurities. She’d fallen pregnant once, when they hadn’t realised her implant had expired.

_“I can’t do it, Bellamy,” she’d cried. “I can’t be a mother. I don’t want that for any kid.”_

_“I want you to know that I don’t for a second believe that you’d be a bad mother. But I won’t force this on you, Clarke.”_

She never regretted that. Kids just weren’t destined to be part of their story. That’s not what hurt. No, what hurt was the way the children around camp looked at her. They were afraid, and not because she was missing a few fingers. Her and Bellamy, they had both done things. They had made sacrifices, at times made the wrong decisions. But it was easier for them to detach Clarke from being an actual human. Bellamy had made his mistakes before their eyes and some of them supported him during those times. He was personable, familiar. He made mistakes but he was only human.

To them, though, she was a mystery. Stories were passed around, about how she came to be Wanheda, about how she disappeared and fell in love with the Grounder Commander, about how that Commander ended up dead in her arms, each more exaggerated than the last. When she brought down the City of Light she came home to a civilisation that had lost their escape, and not only that, but were also facing an impending apocalypse. She was feared, hated. It was a feeling that still simmered among many of the older members of the camp. And children, intuitive as they are, have picked up on their parent’s feelings. They’d scatter when she came to tell Bellamy that she made him tea and they couldn’t look her in the eye.

Eventually the sky darkened overhead and the air grew chilly so they made their way back to camp. They ate their dinner in the quiet of their cabin; the communal dining room was much too loud. They got to bed not long after the last slivers of sunlight disappeared behind the mountains.

“Goodnight, Lucky Spot,” Bellamy murmured, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Clarke rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the grin that took over her features. “Goodnight, Clarke,” he whispered, softly kissing her lips.

“Goodnight, Bellamy.”

Yes, there were graves outside the camp walls for most of their friends. Yes, they had been left battered and bruised by this earth. But here, in Bellamy’s arms, with the moonlight reflecting off his goofy grin, Clarke couldn’t think of a better way for her life to pan out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't posted in a while (wow what a surprise. that's never happened before) so that sucks. but hope you enjoyed this thing. thanks for reading lol


End file.
